The Pool Meaning
by Tango Fox
Summary: Based on a prompt from Tumblr. Jim Moriarty's display at the pool isn't just a threat on Sherlock's life.


The Pool Meaning.

Sebastian Moran sat and watched from the swimming pool viewing gallery. Plunged in darkness he lay on his belly besides his men, staring down the scope of his sniper. He was carefully watching Moriarty, whispering orders to the men beside him. He had worked closely to Jim for years and was the only one on the team who knew how to read Jims emotions, understand his movements. That's why he was chief of staff. He could anticipate Jim's moods and know how to deal with the situation.

They had both sat down, weeks ago and discussed the plans for Sherlock Holmes. Jim was elated, planning everything out in little detail as he always did. He had been meticulous with everything, making sure that no mistakes were made. Sebastian sat and listened to every little plan, and made sure there were no slip ups. If something went wrong it would be him who paid for it, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with another one of Jim's tantrums, especially when they were directed at him.

He experienced a tantrum when Jim terminated the old woman. Seb has warned him not to use her, warned him to at least not speak to her in his real voice, but of course Jim couldn't resist, he never could. Sebastian had been forced to assassinate the woman to keep Jim's secret and keep the game in play. When he got back to London he shouted at Moriarty for being so careless, for almost ruining everything they were working for. That had earned Seb a punch in the face and a nice scratch on the wing of his Porsche. He knew he shouldn't have agitated Jim, not when he had such a temper, but god he has been so stupid! There was no need to put himself in the firing line, to jeopardise the whole thing.

After that things went smoothly again and Jim returned to his ecstatic mood, dancing and running rings around Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian loved to watch him like this; it was enthralling to see him working. They had been colleagues, maybe even friends for a long time now, and Sebastian was happy when Jim was happy. Of course it didn't work the other way round, Jim didn't care about anybody but himself, he didn't even notice if something ever troubled his right-hand man. Sometimes, Sebastian thought that he felt more than friendship for Jim Moriarty, but he quickly forced himself to shake away that feeling. Sentiment would do him no good, especially when it would never be reciprocated.

The night before the big reveal the two had talked everything over, twice. Jim would go in and reveal himself, make several threats, and then leave. Sebastian would sit with a few other snipers, making sure nothing went wrong. He was ordered to shoot to wound, not to kill. Never to kill Sherlock was always Jim's orders. Sebastian personally didn't understand the fascination with Mr Holmes, but he wasn't paid to understand, he was paid to shoot.

Sebastian Moran sat and watched from the swimming pool viewing gallery. Things were not going right. In fact, things were going terribly wrong. Jim's movements were worrying to him; his actions were not what Sebastian had expected. He knew what Jim had wanted. He had wanted Sherlock to praise his intelligence, to say how much fun he had playing the game. But when Sherlock stated to Jim that he had murdered people, Jims facade slipped. The cool and calm criminal disappeared and out came the erratic psychopath that made Seb's finger twitch on the trigger of his rifle. Things were going wrong.

Jim composed himself, as he always does, and left on his threat, sprinting up to the viewing gallery. Ordering the snipers to switch of their scopes, he stood up to meet Jim as he walked in the door. Jim threw himself in the room, and glanced down into the pool. His eyes were wide and crazy; Sebastian didn't even have time to utter a word to him before he ran back out into the pool. Cursing Sebastian ordered the snipers back on target, not settling back down himself, instead standing pressed to the glass, panicking. This was behaviour of the Jim Moriarty that he hated, changeable and erratic, impossible to understand.

He watched as Jim goaded Sherlock, challenged him to detonate the bomb. And that's when Seb realised what was different, realised when he had seen this before. Manchester, two years ago. A surprisingly clever arms dealer had bested Jim at something, and Jim had decided that if he were not the best, he would not exist anymore. This was not Jim killing Sherlock as he assumed. This was Jim killing Jim, and taking everyone with him. Without thinking he fumbled in his pocket and took out his mobile, calling Jims. He cursed again when he saw Jims face and remembered his fondness for silly ringtones.

"Hello?"

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when he picked up.

"This is Manchester all over again isn't it?"

"Yes of course it is, what do you want?"

Sebastian panicked. He had to get Jim out of this; he had to get his mind onto something else. He regretted what popped into his head, but he knew it would work, and he had to use it.

"Don't do it James. I love you."

"SAY THAT AGAIN!"

Sebastian cringed at the anger in his boss's voice.

"Oh for god sakes. I love you okay, and I am not going to let you kill yourself."

"Say that again and know that if you are lying to me, I will find you, and will sssskin you."

Sebastian gulped. He knew Jim wasn't lying, but he couldn't back out now.

"I love you James and you are not going to do this. You are walking out of there and coming home with me. To our home."

"Wait."

Sebastian held the phone so close to his ear that his head hurt, not breathing, just watching.

"Sorry. Wrong day to die."

Sebastian allowed himself to exhale then, watching as Jim declared he would be letting Sherlock go. He watched, his nose almost touching the glass, as Jim headed towards the exit.

"So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I will make you into shoes."

Sebastian struggled to laugh. Jim would never understand his emotions, would never know how to deal with them.

"I don't want your money, just you, alive. And there is no way you are making me into a pair of Westwood's without me shooting you first."

He hung up and ordered his men to leave, pocketing his phone and waiting at the door for his boss, his friend, the man he loved; Jim Moriarty.


End file.
